The Wife In Red A True Story

This story is true, as strange as it seems, and probably explains my attraction (obsession?) with stories about wayward wives. It happened several years ago, in a city in the Midwest. I was living in a rundown part of town because I couldn't afford anything better. While the duplex I lived in wasn't too bad, the neighborhood itself was very seedy. A lot of liquor stores, adult book stores, check cashing operation, and cars up on blocks (or stripped). There was a Denny's restaurant, one of the nicer places actually.

I was in the Denny's finishing breakfast and leaving my money on the table when I noticed a woman walking along the sidewalk. Not too tall, perhaps 5'2", very well built. I mean very very well built. Perfect actually, with nice breasts and slim hips. Blonde hair and a red dress, high heels, hell, she looked like a fashion model.

She wasn't walking straight and when she looked in the window of the Denny's she had a glazed expression on her face. Her face, oh god, perfect features. But her eyes were a little wide, her mouth open, her lips looked swollen. She looked dazed actually.

There were several tables of guys in the Denny's, working guys mostly, a lot of the city workers hung out there. I could hear their comments as I looked at her, and she looked at me through the window.

"Holy shit! Look at that one."

You think she's selling it?"

"Woman looks like that, she won't have any problem finding a buyer. Probably too rich for my blood."

"Oh hell Harley. Thing like that drain the blood right out of ya anyway."

I stood up, keeping my eye on her, and walked to the door. She watched me the entire way. Outside I walked to her, I could tell her age now, no more than 25 was my guess. She looked even better close up, but her lips were definitely swollen, and there were some red blotches on her face.

"Can I help you?" I asked her.

Her eyes left my face for just a moment and looked back at the Denny's. I followed her gaze, the men in the restaurant were watching us, smiling.

"I think I need help," she said. Her voice was soft and she sounded confused.

"OK," I said. Inside I was slapping myself, fucking brilliant, 'OK,' that's the best I could come up with?

"I live near here," I said. "I have a telephone you can use." This was before cell phones became so common. A few people had the old "brick" phones and a few more had them in their cars. I was lucky to have a telephone at all.

"OK," she said. It sounded much better when she said it.

We walked across the street, a busy commercial street, skirted the auto body shop and the adult book store, and walked to my apartment.

"What's your name," I asked.

"Marcy," she whispered it.

I told her my name and we walked up the stairs to my place.

My living room was relatively clean, filled with cheap furniture, a couple of couches and a small second hand TV. I had a fan in the window because the weather was in the 80's and upstairs it got much hotter.

She stood quietly just looking around. For the first time I noticed that she didn't have a purse and it was obvious from the dress she was wearing that she didn't have any pockets. While she looked around I looked at her, there had been a few women in my apartment, but never one that looked like she did.

She was swaying a little and when I looked at her eyes I could see that they didn't quite focus properly. "Our girl is a little toasted," I thought to myself. "No, our girl is a lot toasted," I thought as she momentarily lost her balance.

"I don't have anything," she said looking up at me. I was at least a foot taller than her and as I looked down I could see that her dress wasn't on right. It was gapping in the front and I could see the top of her breasts. Her perfect breasts. I tried not to stare.

"What don't you have?" I asked, reminding myself that breasts make me stupid.

"Anything," she emphasized. "No money, or credit cards," and her voice started to break. "No nothing, they took everything," she was starting to sob. I moved toward her and put my arms around her, and as she collapsed against me she said, "They even took my underwear."

Every man knows the sensation, the one where you go from a normal soft cock to immediate full erection. Absolutely no time passed, I was just throbbing hard when not even one second before it had been my normal, flaccid, size.

I moved her so that we could sit on one of the couches; I did this mostly so that she wouldn't feel my erection.

She leaned against me and cried. She cried for a long time while I stroked her hair and held her. My erection subsided somewhat, but it didn't go entirely away.

Finally she pulled back and sniffled. I got up and walked to the bathroom, returning with a box of Kleenex. While she wiped her eyes she smiled at me.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her voice was so soft and sexy, old mister hard-on was back.

"Tell me what happened," I asked.

"You'll hate me," she said. Than she laughed a little, "You don't even know me and you'll think I'm awful." She actually looked a little concerned about that.

"No," I said frantically searching my mind for something intelligent to say. "Things happen to people, doesn't mean that they're awful people."

I know, I know, it was the best I could do. I was young, horny and not at my best. But it worked.

"OK," she said. "I need help and you're it, but you'll probably regret it," her words were just a bit slurred.

She went to the bathroom first and when she returned she sat on the couch opposite the one I was sitting on.

"Well," she said. "First of all, I'm married." My eyes immediately went to her hand but there was no ring.

She noticed my look. "I'll explain that," she said.

After a big sigh, she looked into the corner of the room, above my head, and started to talk.

"My husband is out of town on business. He travels a lot and he works a lot but he doesn't make much money. In fact, we're barely getting by. We got married right after high school." She mentioned a town where they had gone to high school and gotten married. I recognized the name, a small town in the far corner of the state.

"So," she continued. "I decided that I'd get a job to help out, I know that we have a lot of debts that he hasn't told me about. I've been looking in the want-ads and interviewing, but nothing has worked out. My stupid degree isn't worth anything except to make me over qualified for regular jobs.

Well, I saw this add for models. I don't know the city very well yet, we just moved here a few months ago, but I called them and they said to come over. Pretty pathetic isn't it?" she said. She made one of the rueful faces, like 'how stupid can one person get? Me? A model?'

"When I first saw you, I thought you might be a model," I said.

She laughed. Her face was even more beautiful when she laughed.

"What happened?" I asked.

Her face became instantly serious. "They raped me," she said.

I know I reacted, I was shocked. She looked at me carefully. "Well, maybe it wasn't exactly rape," she said.

"Maybe we should call the cops," I suggested.

"No. I'll tell you the whole story. I won't leave anything out," she said. "And then you can throw me out because I know I'll disgust you.

I should have known by the address, a plain door just down the street. No signs on it or anything. Just a plain door on the side of a plain building.

I had taken a cab so I had no choice, I knocked, but nothing happened. Finally I just tried the door, it was unlocked. Inside was stairs. I just walked in and up the stairs. Finally at the top I said, 'is anybody here?' and a guy yelled at me to come on in.

The guy was in a big space that had been set up like a studio. There were cameras and video recorders, and lights. There was a big bed in the center that everything was pointed at. When I saw the guy I almost ran away. A big black guy. Big, bigger than you.

I don't know any black people. I mean, African-Americans. There certainly weren't any where I grew up.

But he was real friendly, welcoming me. Saying how he was looking forward to taking pictures of me. Telling me I'd make a great model for him. Pretty soon I felt at ease you know? He even offered me some white wine. I don't usually drink because I get a little funny when I do. My husband says that I get 'frisky.' Doesn't take much either!"

She was smiling at the floor now. Sitting forward with her arms on her legs, her head down.

"Can I get you anything," I asked. "Some wine?"

She looked up at me and said, "Oh christ." But I was smiling so she did too. She surprised me when she said, "Sure, why not."

I went into the kitchen to get her a glass of white wine from a cardboard box of wine I had in the refrigerator. Hey, I didn't have much money, cardboard wine was all I could afford. It just a good thing that "two-buck chuck" wasn't in the stores yet.

"It starts to go bad here," she said in the wonderful soft voice as she drank her wine and asked me for another one. "Are you sure I should go on?" The window fan was blowing on her, making her hair and dress move. It was getting hotter as the sun got higher, I could see little beads of sweat on her forehead.

When I returned with her glass, she was still leaning forward, her arms on her thighs, her legs were spread a little but I couldn't see anything, her dress draped. But her position made the top of her dress gap even more and I could see most of the top of her left breast. But it didn't look right.

"He started taking my pictures, moving me this way and that while I drank wine. He shot a lot of pictures. He asked me if I'd ever taken any 'art' pictures. When I said I didn't know what he meant he asked if I'd ever taken any 'sexy' pictures.

Well, the wine was getting to me I guess. And he was appealing in a strange way; big guy, rugged looking, wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt. So I asked what did he have in mind?

He said something like: maybe with fewer cloths on.

OK, I said I'd tell the truth, so here it is. The wine was making me a little horny, the picture taking was exciting, I mean, there I was on display and it was turning me on. And, my husband and I haven't…"

Here she kind of wiggled her hand in front of her. I got the idea, they hadn't fucked in a while. She held out her wine glass for a refill.

She gulped some of the wine before starting again. "I tried a few things first," she continued. "I pulled up my dress so he could get pictures of my legs," and she pulled up her dress to show me what she had done. She had perfect legs, but most importantly, she wasn't wearing any panties! I knew this of course, she had told me that they took her underwear, but still the quick view of her pussy sent a jolt through my system. Again, though, like the quick view of her breast, something wasn't right. In a few minutes I'd know what that was.

"Finally, I took off my dress and posed in my bra and panties. It was then that his 'assistant' arrived. Another big black guy, I didn't hear him or anything, he was just there all of a sudden.

I couldn't cover up, I couldn't find my dress and I fell down jumping off the bed. I guess I was getting drunk.

Well, the big guy picked me up and dropped me back on the bed, and sat down beside me. He started to touch me and rub me while his friend continued to take pictures. I tried to get away, I kept telling him to stop, but he wouldn't and before long he had my bra off and was playing with my….breasts," as she said this she looked down the top of her dress at herself. She brought her free hand up, the one not holding the wine glass, and squeezed her own tit through the material of her dress. To show me what he had done, I guess.

My cock was making a tent in my pants and I know I was leaking pre-cum into my shorts. When she took her hand away her nipple was hard, poking through the material, pointing right at me.

She gave me a sly smile. "You like that don't you?" she asked looking at my crotch.

"Of course," I said.

She nodded and drank the remainder of her wine. When I returned from the kitchen with a full glass her breasts were bare. She had pulled her dress down to her waist and was sitting with those beautiful breasts bare in the warm room. Her body was swaying slightly from the effects of the wine.

She was spectacular. Her skin was clear, unblemished, and pale, like most blondes. Her areolas were a dark pink, her nipples hard and erect. Above her perfect left breast somebody had written with a magic marker: "SLUT." That explained what hadn't look right when I'd peeked down her dress.

"Well," she continued. "He pulled my panties off too, ripped them off really. Then he started rubbing against me while he held my arms so I couldn't fight. When I felt him rubbing I kinda stopped fighting anyway." She looked a little embarrassed as she told me this. I might have noticed more except that she had started to play with her own nipple and to squeeze her own breast while she talked. She was working the tit that had SLUT written on it.

"Why did you stop fighting?" I asked.

"Because his cock felt huge against me and my cunt was flooding," she stated. She looked embarrassed again before adding, "I've never said the word 'cunt' before last night. They made me say it a lot last night."

TO BE CONTINUED